


First Meeting

by Merci



Series: Tekken Valentines Prompts [6]
Category: Tekken
Genre: Brothers, Friendship, Gen, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:43:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1445542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merci/pseuds/Merci





	First Meeting

The house was big. That’s all the boy thought when he was first brought inside. He could feel the cold marble of the foyer on his bare feet and he sharply looked around. Years on the street made him cautious of ambushes – gangs hiding around corners, waiting to rob him and beat him bloody – and a short plane ride to Japan wouldn’t strip him of his cautious nature. Even when the strange old man had offered him a warm bed and food, he was cautious. Men had offered him a warm bed before, though he’d learned how that offer masked an unspoken agreement that resulted in pain and a little money. Still, this old man seemed different. The boy had looked him over, considering his strange accent and the way he’d worded his offer, though, what had caught his attention was the unfamiliar aura that burned around him. The old man smelled like someone who commanded power, not like those desperate and pathetic men who radiated fear and lust.

He’d accepted the offer, but made a show of thinking about it.

In the big house the boy brushed his hair from his eyes, the action disguising his true intent as he watched the old man walk further into the house. He listened to the heavy footsteps grow fainter and, in the first time he’d been alone since leaving the slums, he quickly looked about. Everything was immaculate and rich; the sort of house he’d seen pictures of in magazines. Still, his sharp eyes picked out some hiding spots he was sure the old man couldn’t get to, and he even spied some art pieces he could use as weapons. If he was truly desperate he knew he could escape and find his way to the streets. It would be impossible for him to make it back to his familiar alleyways and abandoned buildings, but homeless was homeless no matter what part of the country he was in. He knew he could escape and survive if the warm bed he’d been promised came with that painful catch.

The old man reappeared moments later with another boy in tow, stopping across the foyer with a gaping space between them. The boy watched the newcomer, quickly taking in his appearance in a glance; he wore his black hair short and his white pants hung down to the ground where his bare feet peeked from the hemline. He was shirtless and looked well-muscled for someone about his own age. He silently looked back to the old man, waiting for an explanation.

There was no explanation and the old man simply shoved the newcomer forward, yelling something in another language and spurring the new boy to ready his fists and charge into battle.

The boy’s adrenaline kicked in and he raised his fists, too, side-stepping the newcomer with ease, like he did with the gangs that would corner him. The newcomer tripped and crashed into the door behind him and the boy spun around, skipping back into the centre of the foyer to put some distance between them while keeping a close eye on the old man. Another command in that language had the new boy on his feet and charging once more. This time, however, the boy was ready and caught him around the middle. His feet skidded across the floor with the force until the momentum died and he began swinging.

He struck hard and fast, hitting at the newcomer’s sides while he took some blows on his back. He kicked the dark-haired boy in the knee, sending him flying to the ground, giving him a chance to back up and look at the old man again before focusing once more on his opponent.

The newcomer groaned, pushing himself up from the floor, but a word from the old man stopped his next attack.

“Your skill is raw, but strong,” the old man said again, his words broken through his thick accent. His stern expression twisted into a wicked smile and he folded his arms over his chest. “You are now my son and training partner for your new brother.” He gestured to the boy who was rubbing his knee and regarding him with a dark light in his eyes.

The boy didn’t let any of his emotions show on his face as the words sank in and he tried to understand what the old man meant. “What do you mean?”

“From now on you will speak Japanese. No more questions in your birth tongue,” was the only response. “Go with my son. He will show you your new room.” And with that, the old man turned and walked out.

The boy didn’t understand a thing the dark-haired boy said to him, but he knew enough to follow as he was led down a hallway and up a flight of stairs. The house was well decorated, but felt cold and the boy could feel it as he took in the wealth these people had. It was the same unfeeling cold of the alleyways and dumpsters; the kind that keep you alert and on guard. He wondered if his situation truly had improved. At least things were cleaner.

The dark-haired boy stopped to open a door and turned to face him, speaking more words in that strange, hard language. The old man had said something about his new room, was this it? He stepped closer, getting a better look through the open doorway. After years of sleeping behind dumpsters he smiled and looked at the other boy, his new brother. There was a dark look in his eyes that betrayed the untapped anger coiling inside. Anger and... something else. He didn’t recognize it, but years later the boy would look back and understand the relief his new sibling felt; relief that he would not be alone under their father’s fist.

“Thanks,” he said, stepping into the dark room. He turned back and bowed slightly. “I-I’m Lee Chaolan,” he said, touching his chest, hoping he understood.

The boy’s shoulders relaxed and he bowed slightly as well. Locking eyes with Lee he placed his hand over his heart and said one name: Kazuya.


End file.
